


Cause There's a Circuit in My Chest, Unconnected from The Rest of My Mind

by ItsChaz



Series: Haze [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Caning, Collars, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Crying, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Face Slapping, Fucking Machines, Gags, Hole caning, How Do I Tag, Humiliation, I don't know, I think that's it - Freeform, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay, Overstimulation, Punishment, Safe Sane and Consensual, Slapping, Stone Steve, Stone Top, Sub Bucky Barnes, Subspace, Sybian, Top Steve Rogers, Verbal Humiliation, hole spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 13:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsChaz/pseuds/ItsChaz
Summary: Bucky fucks up and Steve needs to remind him what happens when he does something wrong.(All fics in the 'Haze' series can be read in any order, or a stand-alone).





	Cause There's a Circuit in My Chest, Unconnected from The Rest of My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.   
> Title from the song “Haze” by Tessa Violet.

> **Cause There's a Circuit in My Chest, Unconnected from The Rest of My Mind**

There’s some nonsense cryptozoology show in the Discovery channel talking about the Loveland Frogman, the drawl of the host is incredibly dull, but the program itself interesting – something that Bucky would definitely like watching.

The book he’s reading isn’t even his: it’s a space opera novel written completely in Russian that Bucky had left out on the coffee table. He doesn’t understand any of it because one it's in Russian and two because he's opened it to the bookmarked page, a quarter of the way through.

There’s a half-empty beer bottle resting on the coffee table, which his foot brushes against so often, propped on its surface, ankles crossed. Bucky’s going to be pissed when he finds out that Steve had put his feet on the coffee table and the beer bottle isn’t on a coaster. But, for now, he doesn’t give a shit, just licking an index finger and turning the page.

Every so often he starts whistling the tune of a cheesy pop song he had heard on the car radio yesterday afternoon that is still stuck in his head. Mindless and stupid. Reminds him of Bucky.

Speaking of Bucky. From beside him, at the opposite side of the three-seater, Bucky is there. Well, sort of. Physically, he’s present but in every other sense of the word, he’s somewhere else. Somewhere far, far away. He’s moaning and whining from behind his panel gag, bucking wildly in a fit of desperation – whether it’s to get closer or further away from the onslaught of painful pleasure, Steve isn’t too sure. He’s crying, gross and loud, tears streaking his red– flushed face. Every movement he takes, the tags of his collar jingle. “Hey, keep it down over there, would ya?” he asks, not really expecting a response, “tryna read here”. He turns the TV up a couple of notches, but it does nothing to drown out Bucky’s noises.

Bucky’s been down there for an hour, maybe even longer. Steve had practically manhandled Bucky onto the Sybian, cuffs added and reinforced to take Bucky’s extra weight – both muscle and otherwise – and strapped him down, the vibrations on full blast right against his prostate. After tormenting him through his first orgasm, Steve had left him there, headed off to take Pepper to an apology lunch.

When he had come back, Bucky was an overstimulated mess –  hell, he still is now – release covering him and the floor boards in front of him. Steve was glad he had the mind to move the rug out of the way before heading off. Watching Bucky lick his own come from the shag pile rug would be insanely hot, but Steve also knows how much of a clean freak Bucky about that sort of thing is and disinfecting the coffee table is one thing, but washing the rug is another. It’ll be a one-way ticket to an anxious breakdown. Bucky’s sense of personal hygiene is fucking terrible but in terms of house tidiness, he's real particular about it.

Bucky’s still coming now but his spent cock barely releasing anything more than a dribble. The little twitch and the wretched sounds he makes, well – it’s pathetic, really. Steve wants _more_.

But he waits. Not only because it builds anticipation –  not that Bucky knows, honestly, he’s lost his perception of time, of pretty much everything – but because he wants to make sure that Bucky’s come until he can’t anymore so he can wring _just one more_ from him. He ‘reads’ two more pages of the novel and waits for the end credits for the episode to roll before reaching for the remote and switching off the TV. He doesn’t bother with the bookmark again because he lost it between the couch cushions and couldn’t be bothered fishing it out and Steve doesn’t use a bookmark anyway –  never has, to Bucky’s forever annoyance – and just dog–ears the page that he was on; two whole chapters away from where Bucky had left off.

Draining the last few dregs of beer, Steve gets up to throw the bottle away – _yes, in the recycling_ , he tells Bucky in his head. Walking back to the lounge room, whistling obnoxiously as he does because he knows how much Bucky loves it – not that he could probably tell right now – Steve sits down on the couch, right behind Bucky who doesn’t even react.

Steve runs a hand through Bucky’s sweaty hair, matted and clumped together. Disgusting. He wants to rub his hand somewhere on Bucky but his entire body is covered in sweat. Steve grips a huge chunk of hair and pulls Bucky’s head back to rest on his thigh, rough stubble rubbing against equally rough jeans. Bucky lets out a strangled but grateful moan at the feeling of Steve against him, dick squirting pitifully at the mere contact.

 _Cute_.

“You in there, Buck?” Steve asks, using his index and middle finger to tap a little too hard against the side of Bucky’s head. It takes a moment but there’s a flash of recognition in Bucky’s eyes and he nods, once, whining and rubbing his head against Steve’s leg like a dog. Steve tightens his grip in Bucky’s hair and shakes a little bit – a warning – and Bucky goes stock still. Just holding Bucky down, Steve takes a moment just to _look_.

Bucky’s beautiful. Always has been in a boy-ish sorta way – all devilish smirk and charming personality. There's never been any question as to why all the dames wanted to be with him but, even now, Steve wonders what all those girls would've thought about Bucky if they all saw him like _this_.

His eyes are wide open, unblinking and unfocused in a way that's almost unnerving – Steve told him not to move and blinking would be considered moving. They're rimmed red and bloodshot, tears chasing each other down tear–stained cheeks. Steve considers getting him some mascara or eyeliner or something, to watch tracks of black run down Bucky's face when he cries.

The black panel gag is a beautiful contrast to Bucky's tanned skin, as is the collar around Bucky's neck – matching black leather and silver details. Bucky loves this – the leather and the gags. Sometimes Steve feels like Bucky needs to remember that he's not _him_ – not the Winter Soldier – anymore because he feels like Bucky forgets. But he doesn't because he's selfish, he's an asshole; he loves the look of the gags, the leather, how _Steve_ gets to choose when he can speak. He would love to keep Bucky gagged all the time but he won't because he still likes to hear the dumb things that Bucky has to say.

His cock though is prettier than all the leather: strained and miserable looking. It can't even become completely hard anymore, flushed red and limp. This isn't the first time they've played with Bucky's refractory period but this is the most fun they've had with it or, at least, in Steve's case. Come is absolutely _everywhere_ : on Bucky, coating him from the stomach down – there's even little splashes in his chest – and decorating the floor in front of him. Steve reaches out and gives Bucky’s prick a little tug. A small, pathetic sob racks Bucky’s exhausted body and a fresh load of tears swell up in his eyes.

God, every second Steve swears he falls more and more in love with Bucky.

“I’m gonna turn you ‘round now, okay?” Steve waits until he gets a sluggish nod from Bucky. He turns the Sybian around and, while he’s at it, turns the vibrations off. Bucky slumps and lets out a gutted moan in relief, talking some nonsense from beneath the gag. Reaching out, Steve unbuckles the gag and throws it on the coffee table, next to the novel. The thick black dildo attached to the inside of the gag slips free from Bucky’s throat with a disgusting, wet noise and Steve could swear that he could see the dildo move around inside Bucky’s throat as he removes it, bulging in certain places. A mouthful of saliva follows suit, flowing shamelessly from his mouth.

He unnecessarily massages at Bucky’s jaw – Bucky once said _why_ he always does it when it never hurts, Steve shushes him with another mandarin segment and a kiss to the forehead before muttering into Bucky’s hair _it would hurt me if I didn’t_. Some semblance comes back to Bucky, but he’s still chanting a gargled mess of _thankyouthankyouthankyou_ and _pleasepleaseplease_. “What’s the matter, princess, too much for you?”

Bucky’s bottom lip quakes with a low whine, like that of a kicked puppy. Usually, _princess_ is one of Bucky’s most favourite terms for Steve to use, but the tone of it sounded cruel, less like a mockery of affection, like usual, but more like a stab wound to the stomach and a twist of the knife. He loves it. “Stop, please, stop. Please, _please_. It _hurts_ , no more, sir, please”. The more he begged the more the words jumbled together into a load of god knows what, but at no point does he call the safeword so Steve takes it as a sign to keep going.

“Stop now?” Steve says, one large hand cupping the side of Bucky’s face, thumb tracing his red, spit-slick lips, “but your punishment has barely begun”.

Bucky gawks up at him in confusion, most of the hazy feelings gone – shock of the fact that there’s more to come – his handcuffed hands struggling to break free, but there’s no give.  “That’s… that’s not it?”

Steve runs his other hand through Bucky’s hair a couple time, getting the worst of the tangles out before just resting his hand at the base of Bucky’s skull, “of course there’s more. _That_ was just punishment for what you did to Pepper. Now, we have to deal with you being a little shit towards _me_ ”. Steve grabs onto a chunk of Bucky’s hair, shaking his head almost violently as if he was trying to _shake some sense into him_. “But, before that – housekeeping,” Steve says, all traces of malice gone, replaced with a light heartily conversational tone.

“Housekeeping, sir?” Bucky asks. There’s a brief moment of _gone_ behind his eyes, he’s still present and alert – daydreaming, mostly, thoughts cropping up in his brain. Steve’s seen this look plenty of times; it’s the one Bucky gets when he imagines, thinking, about whatever goes on in his pretty, fucked up brain of his. Thoughts and fantasies of what Steve’s going to say or do. He wonders what Bucky’s imagining now but doesn’t bother asking.

“Sure,” Steve replies, “do you want to finish your punishment before or after talking?”

Hesitantly, like he already knows the answer or is shocked that Steve’s even giving him the choice, he asks, “what’s the punishment?”

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll see when it happens. Can’t have you thinkin’ 'bout too much at once, can I?” Bucky nods and Steve shakes Bucky’s head again forcefully, “can I?”

“No… no sir, you can’t”.

“And why’s that?”

“… Cuz I’m stupid?” Tears of humiliation start to prick in the corner of his eyes.

“That’s right,” Steve says proudly, like a parent to their child when they do something by themselves for the first time. Steve slaps Bucky in the face, twice and in quick succession as a reward, “maybe you’re not as dumb as previously thought”. Bucky chokes on a sob and Steve’s heart glows. Beautiful. Then, he remembers, “so, before or after?”

“After?” Steve quirks an eyebrow and raises a hand, a threat of a slap, “after, sir,” Bucky corrects himself and Steve swings, his own palm hurting with the impact of the slap. “Fuck,” Bucky gasps, lip actually fucking _bleeding_. No safeword though.

Steve removes all body contact with Bucky, shuffling back, legs spread, elbows on his thighs and hands clasping in front of him. He’s radiating dominance and authority, more so than before, and whether it’s subconscious or not, Steve doesn’t know, but Bucky just _reacts_ to it, his entire dementor changing. He freezes immediately, head bowed, shoulders back and looking so fucking _obedient_. _What a good boy_ , Steve thinks but doesn’t say it – he can’t right now, it wouldn’t be entirely fitting of the situation. Instead, he says, “why did you talk to Ms. Potts like that?” and, when Bucky shrugs, asks, “use your words, James”.

Bucky shudders before shrugging again and muttering a weak, “I don’t know”.

“Did you take your medication this morning?” Steve already knows the answer to the question but feels like it's important to ask anyway.

Bucky doesn’t like taking his medication – the cocktail of drugs the doctors have been force-feeding him since he’s been back. He’s tried medication tapering once before with the support of his doctors but it made him too paranoid, too anxious, too violable so they put him back on it. It had taken for Steve to be begging, literally on his knees, for Bucky to start taking it again. Tensing, Bucky replies, “no, sir”.

“And why not?” Bucky looks like he's on the verge of bad tears, tense and shaking. But still no safeword.

“I don’t know,” he repeats.

“Baby,” Steve says, shifting forward to gently stroke Bucky's face, breaking his dominant role for the moment, “you know you have to take your medication”.

Sniffing, Bucky relaxes slightly at the kinder tone and replies, “I know, sir. I’m sorry”.

Nodding, more to himself than anyone, Steve slips back into his role again, hand resting lightly at Bucky's throat, sitting there but not squeezing, “you had really upset her”. 

 _Upset_ wasn't exactly the word to use – Pepper was a little shocked, and more than understanding, but not upset. After Bucky had stalked off, angry as a hornet’s nest, Steve had apologised and done damage control, promising to take Pepper out to lunch later that week as a real apology.

 “I know,” he says, “and I'm sorry”. 

“That's great and all, but I'm not exactly the person you should be apologising to right now. Your apology to me comes later”. Bucky’s struggling with the need to say sorry again, Steve notices - his fingers are twitching almost violently, thumming against the sides of the Sybian he's still bound to and his mouth opens and closes, fighting against the instinct to mutter another _I'm sorry_. 

He looks _dumb_ and _scared_ and Steve loves it. If he had his phone on him, he'd absolutely snap a photo of Bucky right now. Kept in the folder with all the other _pretty-dumb_ photos he's taken of Bucky. The ones that when he shows Bucky later, he has no recollection of it being taken. Those, right next to the ones he has of Bucky doing stupidly mundane things - stretching in the morning or face glued to some science magazine, his tongue poking out subconsciously from between his lips - are his favourite. 

“So, are you going to take your medication again, or do we want a repeat of this?” he sounds stern - a perfect teacher voice. A thought he decides to file away for later. 

“Yes sir,” Bucky says, a pause and then, “could you please remind me?” 

“I'm gonna hafta won't I?” Bucky’s not as dumb as they like to pretend he is, objectively he is the smarter one of the two, always had been better at school, especially with maths and the sciences; the 'real world’ subjects.  He doesn't _need_ to be reminded to take his medication - he never forgets, just never wants to - but it's so good for Steve to be in charge, to be able to take care of Bucky. Because, since the beginning, that's what this has always been about in some way or another: taking care of Bucky. Bucky shutters and moans, eyes closed, and mouth open in a perfect slacked ‘o’. 

Steve pushes back a fallen lock of Bucky’s hair, tucking it safely behind Bucky’s ear, before reclining back in his seat. “Ready for round two?” 

“Yes sir,” Bucky says, the light airiness of subspace already setting in, amidst the tense body of panic. 

“What are you waiting for then?” Steve asks, “get yourself up”. 

He watches Bucky struggle against the cuffs and the dildo of the Sybian he’s still sat on. Thrashing wildly to try and throw himself off and over, he looks floppy, like a fish out of water. _Stupid_. After a moment Bucky gives up, mumbling pathetically, “I can’t”.  

“You need some help there, stupid?” Steve asks and, when Bucky nods, mutters under his breath, “Geez, gotta do everything for ya, don’t I?” 

When Steve stands and grabs Bucky, he goes completely limp in Steve’s arms. A mess of _I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry_ mixed with _thankyouthankyouthankyou_. The happy, soft sigh Bucky lets out as Steve undoes the cuffs and lifts him off the dildo is so, so _sweet_. It’s nice to see that Bucky’s so thankful to have his hole empty because Steve’s going to have so much fun filling it again. 

He throws Bucky down on the couch where he was sitting and rearranges him until he’s happy with Bucky’s position - on his back with his legs spread up in the air. Kneeling down, Steve leans forward, blowing lightly on Bucky’s hole, laughing meanly as he watches it quiver. 

There’s a lower shelf on their coffee table where they usually keep things like books and records or Steve’s pencils and Bucky’s candles when they’re not burning. Along with that stuff, there’s also a wicker basket that holds pens and pieces of paper, a calculator and a stapler, some painkillers and a bunch of tangled cords for electronics neither of them use anymore. Perched precariously on top of the wicker basket is one of their canes. 

The cane is strong and painful but can be known to give pleasure if used in the right situation. Too bad for Bucky, it never is. It’s definitely one of Steve’s favourite things to play with. It’s one of Steve’s favourite things to punish Bucky with. But, then again, who said _who_ it was supposed to give pleasure to?

 Holding the tip of the cane to Bucky’s lips, “remember this?” he asks as he watches Bucky bow his head to kiss the tip. _Beautiful_. 

“Yes sir,” he says, lips still so close to the end of the cane they brush against it.

Drawing the cane back Steve asks, “wanna know what I’m gonna do with it?” after Bucky nods Steve answers, “I’m gonna beat you with it”. 

In any other situation Bucky would retort with something dumb and sassy like _well, I coulda told you that, numbass_ but he can’t, not right now so instead he just groans instead, but Steve laughs regardless, knowing it means the same thing. Leaning down Steve bites the thick meat of Bucky’s inner thigh, laughing at the hoarse scream. 

“I’m going to beat you with it,” Steve repeats, standing up so he’s looming over Bucky; with cane in hand, he wonders what he looks like to Bucky, “but not your ass… or your thighs. No, I’m gonna try something new: I’m gonna beat this little hole of yours”. 

Bucky’s eye snap wide open and his mouth opens and closes like he wants to protest but doesn’t have the words. Steve waits a moment, face soft, knowing that, if he needs to, Bucky can - and will - call it off. He doesn’t so Steve continues, “I was thinkin’ about fucking it, but look at this,” rubbing the tip of the cane against Bucky’s hole, it catches on the rim and laughs when Bucky cranes his neck to try and peer down between his legs to try and see, “it’s so loose I could just slip my fist in there”. It’s a bit of an over exaggeration, sure Bucky’s loose but he isn’t _that_ loose. Regardless, he stores the idea of fisting Bucky away with the teacher idea for later. 

“Will it hurt, sir?” Bucky asks meekly. 

Snorting Steve replies, “I’m canning your asshole, you idiot, of course it’s gonna hurt. Jesus, what a dumb little thing you are. Maybe I should beat some sense into that brain a yours”. He taps the cane against Bucky’s forehead, laughing quietly when Bucky shrinks away from it. 

Using his leg, Steve pushes the coffee table further out of the way so he has more room, “ready?” he asks. 

Bucky nods but a second later asks, “how many?” 

“However many I wanna give you,” Steve replies, “I’ll stop when I think you’ve made it up to me. Also… no coming this time”. He isn’t too sure if Bucky _would_ want to come from this. Probably. Bucky comes from just about anything - the more painful, too, the better. “Ready?” he asks again and this time Bucky just nods without asking any questions. 

Without any more warning, he brings the cane down square on Bucky’s hole. _God_ , that scream. Loud and filled with nothing but pure pain, not one ounce of pleasure found in it. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if people in the next town - or _country_ even - heard it. Watching and waiting for the safeword that never comes, he smiles. Oh yes, this will be fun. 

Counting them in his head, Steve canes Bucky’s hole - _one_ , _two_ , _three_ , _four_ , _five_. The whooshing crack of the cane barely hearable over the sound of Bucky’s cries and screams. They sound so painful, like Bucky’s throat should be bleeding with just how loud he’s screaming. God, they’re going to have to do this again.

  _Six_ , _seven_ , _eight_ , _nine_ , _ten_. Bucky’s cock is twitching helplessly, his insane refractory period helping him as he gets fully hard again. It just goes to show how much of a masochist Bucky really is, Steve supposes. He laughs at the thought, wondering who in their right mind would get pleasure from something like this. Then again, he thinks, what kind of person is _he_ for wanting to dish this out to Bucky. Bucky lets out another strangled cry as the cane makes contact and, he decides, he’s a very, very good person - giving Bucky what he wants. What he needs. 

 _Eleven_ , _twelve_ , _thirteen_ , _fourteen_ , _fifteen_. Bucky’s hole looks swollen and painful. Tight now? Definitely: swollen shut. Red welts and harsh lines criss-cross over the small section of Bucky’s body. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like there’s any cuts or tears anywhere. 

 _Sixteen_ , _seventeen_. Crying deteriorates into helpless sobbing and his voice has given out. No longer able to scream incoherent words.  Precome dribbles from Bucky’s cock, red and purple and completely painful looking. After a couple more strikes Steve stops to ask, “wanna come?” Bucky nods but Steve isn’t having any of it, “words - you have them, so use them”. It’s a bit funny because, at this point, Bucky seems to be beyond words. 

Beyond words or not, an order is an order, “yessir,” Bucky says. It’s weak and barely above a whisper, slurred together. 

Steve raises the cane again, “then come,” he says as he swings down, hitting Bucky directly on his balls. Bucky’s mouth opens in a silent scream as his cock squirts out lines of spunk. Steve stares in awe - there’s more than what he thought there would be considered how much Bucky had already emptied his balls. 

Tossing the cane onto a nearby armchair to deal with later, Steve kneels back down on the floor in front of Bucky. Tenderly - or at least Steve thought it was - tapped his index and middle fingers against the puffy rim. A wretched sob escapes from Bucky’s lips, tears running freely. “How we feeling?” Steve asks, almost gentle. 

“… bad, sir…” Bucky croaks. His voice cracks in a way that makes even Steve feel in pain. 

“Oh no, you poor baby,” Steve says, “think you learnt your lesson then, James?” 

From between broken sobs and sniffles, Bucky whines out a, “yes sir, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorrysorrysorry”. 

“Okay then, I forgive you,” Steve says, ignoring Bucky’s rambling of _sir_ s and _sorrys._ Snaking one hand up to Bucky’s stomach, Steve is careful to brush against Bucky’s, not doubt, oversensitive cockhead. “Hey,” he says, swirling his finger around in a puddle of come that pools in the slight divot of Bucky's stomach, “have you noticed something here?” 

Bucky looks confused, eyebrows knitted together and mouth opened dumbly, like a gaping fish. Steve takes this opportunity to feed Bucky some of his own come, who swallows it down greedily - oblivious. Steve pushed his a come-covered finger into Bucky's mouth twice more before Bucky notices, “no, no, no. Please, no”. 

“You know the rules,” Steve says, mockingly. It's cruel, he knows this: a punishment more painful than the other two he had just endured. But rules are rules and didn't _really_ need to come; it like have been damn near impossible for him not to but that was hardly Steve's problem. 

“No, no, sir please, no,” Bucky chants, “I’ll do anything”.

 Reaching up, Steve twists one of Bucky’s nipples harshly, “anything, huh?” he asks. He’s teasing Bucky, cruelly so. Steve had this whole thing planned out from the start, of course, he did. This was about _Bucky_ and _Bucky’s punishment_ and what would more painful to Bucky than not being able to pleasure Steve? _Nothing_.  Yelping, Bucky nods. “Too bad,” Steve says, “you chose this and now I’m going to have to get my kicks from something else”.

 “Something that isn’t me?” Bucky asks sadly. It’s funny, honestly. He’s done with this, hurting and exhausted but, at the same time, doesn’t want Steve to have fun with something or someone that isn’t him.

As Steve starts to stand up Bucky begins to sniffle, another onslaught of tears at the ready. Bending down between Bucky’s still spread legs, the rough denim of Steve’s jeans rubs against Bucky’s dick and Steve doesn’t know if it’s voluntary or not but Bucky ruts up against Steve’s thigh, just the once - whining out at the coarse material. Steve pushes a chunk of clumped, matted hair from Bucky’s forehead and kisses it right in the middle with an overdramatic _mwah_ sound. Steve smiles, all the way up to his eyes, at the soft, happy sigh Bucky lets out at the sweet contact. God, he loves his boy. “Of course not,” Steve says, lips still close enough to Bucky’s forehead that they brush against the heated flesh with every word, “you’re my favourite toy to play with”.

**Author's Note:**

> (̶A̶n̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶e̶n̶t̶r̶y̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶"̶a̶e̶g̶o̶s̶e̶x̶u̶a̶l̶ ̶t̶r̶i̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶w̶r̶i̶t̶e̶ ̶s̶m̶u̶t̶"̶ ̶s̶e̶r̶i̶e̶s̶)̶.̶


End file.
